


The Lion Sleeps Tonight

by tumbleweed (zel), zel



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Nakama, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zel/pseuds/tumbleweed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zel/pseuds/zel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bounty job goes bad and Boone gets hurt. While the rest of the team forges ahead to catch their man, Cass and Arcade stay behind in a Goodsprings farmhouse to look after their injured sniper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The NCR wanted the man dead or alive, alive if possible, but Cass figured they should have just shot him on sight. Would have saved a whole lot of trouble.

She hadn't planned on getting into the whole bounty hunter business. Not that she couldn't handle her piece, no sir, not that she didn't like a life on the road, it was just there were too many sons of bitches in this world and you couldn't lay hands on all of them.

Paid well, though, in aluminum caps, paper dollars, head of cattle, or a handshake and something to barter. Rodriguez helped get Cass her caravan back on its hooves, and he helped her get her revenge. He was a patient fella, and there was so much he was prepared to tolerate, but good lord if you needed to roll back your sleeves, spit on your hands, and get down to it, you wanted el capitán.

Just don't call him that to his face. You had to pretend like you didn't even suspect he'd once been military. You had to be surprised for the confession that would come one of these days soon, when without a doubt he would tell them how the Legion forced the desert rangers out of Arizona, how the garrison fell at Yuma. He wouldn't talk about it-- Gannon would get dead serious and say never to ask about it-- but there it was, hanging in the air.

In the mean time, everybody acted he was just some mail carrier, except when the NCR needed somebody caught or somebody killed. They'd come hat in hand with a job for Rodriguez, and he'd smile that charming little smile and tell them not to worry about a thing.

They'd taken down raiders, fiends, Powder Gang, Jackal Tribe, Scorpions, Vipers, Super Mutants, feral ghouls, bugs big as a house, fuckin' legion forward teams, fuckin' wiped out the Silver Rush and left Alice McCafferty dancing at the end of a rope, but Jesus Christ, they had to go and lose Boone to some scrawny scout deserter who ran off with some kind of NCR equipment.  


Sure, Craig would be out two weeks, maybe three, but it was the principle of the thing. The scout slipped off into some cave system for a speedy getaway, and they chased him through the tunnels with ED-E lighting the way. Veronica clambered over an old scaffold structure to catch up after the kid, and Boone went right behind. Thing was, Veronica was a short bit and Craig weighed in around 205. The weak boards broke and fat boy fell through. 

The scout got away. Popped out of some escape hole somewhere. Didn't matter-- everybody rounded in to get Craig out. He'd be all right-- bruised ribs, or cracked, couldn't really tell, but he just needed bed rest and not a whole lot of moving around.

Rodriguez blamed himself, of course. He said he should've posted Craig outside maybe, but he wanted Boone more involved with their jobs, not just a sniper rifle with a scowling man on the other end of it. It was no secret that Rodriguez was trying to groom old Sgt Boone for something better, but Cass served as second in command for now, and hell, she'd earned that.

Besides-- not much good Craig could have done outside with his sniper rifle if they had wanted to catch this punk kid alive. For a minute, you saw Rodriguez get that hard look in his eye, like he'd rather have shot that kid than see harm come to Craig. Jesus Christ. Cass had it up to here with the tension between Boone and the courier-- the gripping and on-going saga of poor sad Craig Boone and his Gay Mexican Vigilante Dad.

So it was day five of Craig laid out miserable on a mattress in some ramshackle farmhouse in Goodsprings. Her and Gannon stayed behind with Rex. It was gonna be Raul, Rodriguez, and the robot goin after the scout again, but Veronica pitched a fit they were leaving her behind. She managed to twist Rodriguez's arm, telling them they needed her because of the equipment the scout had stolen, and el capitán finally relented. 

So they struck off with Veronica yipping like a cowgirl and yelling, "Tonight we ride, banditos!" with Sunny's dog dancing round her heels. That was days ago.

Sometimes Rodriguez would leave his Pip Boy with her and she could read out ED-E's updates, but with a hunt like this, he sent the eyebot on ahead and kept the gauntlet to himself. So Cass had fuck-all idea how it was going, but she guessed they were just fine. 

Boone was in low spirits. He didn't like laying around, and though she didn't understand their friendship, Arcade tried his best to cheer him up. And Craig was in pain. Every morning you'd look in there, and you'd see Boone sitting on the edge of the bed, his face dripping with sweat, while the doctor wrapped his ribs in a compression bandage. 

"The pain's gotten so bad he's not breathing right," Arcade whispered to her in the farmhouse kitchen. "I don't think he's slept in days. I'm going to have to give him an injection."  
And Boone was out flat. None of those rickety, painful little gasps. His face relaxed completely and you saw him laid out on the mattress, his chest rising and falling in normal rhythm beneath a rag quilt they bought from one of the town ladies. 

That same lady, in fact, came on up yesterday morning, standing on the back porch and wiping her hands off on her apron. Johanna was short and stout, like a china cream pourer, and she was married to one of the ranch hands here in Goodsprings. She saved, scrimped, was sensible, could make anything out of anything. She was just checking on poor young Craig, was he getting his rest?

Boone slept all through the day, which was good, because it was damn hot even with the ceiling fan that Veronica got to work. Most anywhere the electricity was always periodic, it would only work a few hours if you had any power at all.

Cass was getting bored all cooped up like she was. Didn't like playing house here with Gannon. At least Ringo was back in town-- playin' it off like he was passing through anyways-- but she managed to nail him down a good while in the saloon. His contract was up with Crimson Caravan, and she wanted him for her own. 

Gannon got on well with Doc Mitchell, and you could see the old feller limping down to the farmhouse to drop in a visit. Cass didn't know if Arcade was bored by it all, he seemed fine, attentive to Craig and perfectly content to read in that faded arm chair with the cyborg dog at his feet. Sometimes he'd just look out the window, chewing a pencil, before he would push his glasses up with the back of his hand and get to jotting down something in a little field journal. 

Cass slowly died, and wondered if she could get into Trudy's apron down at the Prospector Saloon. If only to annoy Veronica, who apparently got there first.

Now on day five, night five, Cass was washing her clothes out in the little basin borrowed from Mrs Johanna. She had slept through most the heat of the day, and there was a hazy memory of Gannon shaking her shoulder gently and telling her, in mid-afternoon time, that he was making a house call with Doc Mitchell and would be back late. 

She found it easier to go about her business with a slight buzz. Focused her in. Made her tolerate the tedium. She scrubbed her shirt in the little laundry tub, running it against the metal washboard. Her jeans were already thick and heavy with water, hanging to dry over the broken porch rail. The wood was warm against bare feet. Moths batted against the porch lantern, and Cass sighed, kneeling in her underwear and bra, feeling the deep peace of alcohol and a cooling desert night.  
A body thudded through the farmhouse-- she heard doors open and bang. Boone was awake. Good.

Ringo was going to join her caravan. She'd have to supply his own team and wagon to start off, but the young man was a good investment. A people person. She was thinking now that she'd get a two-for-one, 'cause it looked like Sunny Smiles was getting itchy feet. The girl had a good aim and a sweet temperament. 

Things were looking up. A lot of calves born this year and the price of a steer was exceedingly fair. 

Her mind wandered-- the smell of soap coming up from frothy handfuls-- and she found her thoughts melting into the buzz of insects from the darkness beyond the porch.

Cass was finishing her shirts and the other scratchy bra-- she was going to have to get that one fixed up-- when Boone came out on the porch. He walked with a hand feeling out ahead of him, and he leaned against the door real heavy. 

Craig was wearing just a slack look on his face and a pair of briefs real tight and thick in the front. 

"Well look who's up," she said, real dry.

"Feelin' better," he rasped.

"You go and get me your shirt, I'll wash it out," she said. "On the condition you make us something to eat. I can't cook for shit." 

He made a soft heh sound. He pressed his face into the edge of the door frame, eyes shut a second.

Arcade said the painkiller might make him sick. Make sure to check on him.

"You all right? Not gonna throw up, are ya?"

"'m good," Boone said. "Hurt real bad.. woke me up, like I couldn't breathe.. "

"Still hurts?"

"Na.. " the sniper slowly seemed to pet the door jamb. "Gave myself nother shot, 'sall good now."

Cassidy paused. She never liked injections, steered clear of anything more than whiskey and strong self-determination. "You gave yourself another shot?" she said carefully-- was he supposed to do that? Was that all right?

Boone gave a choppy nod. His eyes, she saw as she stood up, looked all black. "Yeah," he said. "One for each side."

So that's why he wasn't wearing his bandages.

Cassidy stood there in her underwear and bra, feeling a rare flush come over her face. She told herself it was anger. "Craig Boone, you are an idiot." 

"What's it mean," he murmured.

"It means you're a goddam fool who is probably going to die from an overdose. I am NOT going to babysit your dumb high ass." 

Now Arcade had done his laundry earlier in the day, an early riser, that four-eyed squeaky clean little poindexter, and she grabbed one of his fresh dry shirts off the rail and started to put it on.

"No, your.. your tattoo. What's your tattoo. What's it mean." A slow smile spread across Craig's face, and she thought, it sure was strange to see him smile like that. "The one all over your back. Meant to ask."


	2. Chapter 2

Cass thought real quick how she was going to tell the boss that Boone died on her watch.

He would be furious. Words like "responsibility" and "honor" would hit her like shots from a revolver, and in a sudden rush she knew she'd hear him say, in the deadliest husk of a voice, "I trusted you to be second in command" --- and that flippant bullshit part of her wanted to say, well, you're still going to need one 'cause Boone sure ain't steppin up now.

"God damn it," Cass whined, "I look away for a minute and you already got into trouble." 

Craig just looked at her real glazed and stupid. "'m better now."

She thrust her arm through Gannon's shirt and shivered at the fabric going cross her skin. Hadn't realized she'd broken out in bitty goose bumps. Well, she wasn't afraid of Rodriguez and damn it, Boone was a grown-ass man!

Cass left the laundry as it was. She hooked the lantern and held it for a closer look at Craig, who leaned heavy in the doorway. Accustomed to his usual sunglasses, his usual scowl or squint, she hadn't realized his eyes were a light color. They watched her now. Blown pupils made the color in his eyes go real thin.

"Go back in the house," she told him, and he didn't.

Boone stood there like a stubborn half-grown calf, the kind you had to take the whip to. "Think you can boss me around."

Once you struck them that first time, though, that got em moving. Cass scowled. "You don't want to play that game, Craig," she said. "You going to be like that, then you sit your ass out here and don't touch anything." 

"Heh."

She made a point to brush by him on her way inside. A petty thing to do, maybe, given his bruises, but she got mostly shoulder and he didn't seem to feel nothing.  
She went straight to the room they put him up in, the narrow dining room off the kitchen. The second bedroom hadn't been cleared out yet, jumbled with unusable furniture. Trudy said folks had picked out the best scavenging years and years ago, even before settled people came to Goodsprings. When Rodriguez said he'd rent the place out a couple weeks, Trudy hollered round for the Pruitt boys and asked them if they wanted to make some caps hauling furniture down to the farmhouse. You saw those enterprising young men walking with a chair in each hand, Jedidiah Pruitt balancing one extra on his shoulder and right bicep. They brought down a table and then the mattresses, enough for two beds.

Arcade and the boss had the one mattress in the master bedroom, and at the other end of the house, Veronica and Boone in that dining room. Cass and Raul each took out a room over the saloon. She'd half expected that the scribe would try to bunk again with Miss Trudy, but damn if she knew what was happening there. 

Somebody had taken the glass out of the windows awhile back, so Trudy nailed up some curtains. They didn't match, but what did. One was in staid old-lady decorator colors, and the other was old age-yellowed with little bing cherries. The cherry one covered the second window and let in some light. It might have been a bath curtain once.

The room was sparse, just the mattress and a ladderback chair used as a night stand. The bedclothes and the quilt were all kicked up. 

Cass noticed a small ashtray with some dried flowers in it. Veronica probably put that there for him in a get-well gesture.

His boots stood one next to the other by the door to the kitchen, and his shirts were folded. He'd even folded up Arcade's lab coat. He must have been in some pain when he got up, leaving the bed all rucked up like that-- for such a big lug, Craig Boone was so tidy and precise.

She didn't find what she wanted to know. The ladderback chair threw a weird tilting shadow as she took the lantern out of the room and went down the hall. She didn't know where Arcade kept his supplies, usually. She hardly ever had need. Mama raised her to tough it out.. and you'd have been hard pressed to find someone tougher than mama.

Cass checked the bathroom, the master bedroom-- Rex's eyes came on in a creepy red glow, but the cyborg dog didn't move from where he was curled up in one of the courier's shirts. 

Turned out the doctor bag was in the kitchen, and Cass found two vials emptied. She passed the glow of the lantern over the table and counter one last time, just to make sure Craig hadn't gone and given himself more than two. Hell-- it was a mercy he hadn't killed himself by injecting air bubbles into his vein. 

Cass hated junkies, hated users. 

Well if he was going to get all fucked up, that meant dim prospects for the night's breakfast. That boy could cook. He was probably too out of it for now, so Cassidy cast about for something they could eat. Hell if she was going to try to make anything. 

She took a mason jar of prickly pear jam and the half loaf of bread out of the breadbox. She had to hold them awkward all in her elbow on account of the lantern in her other hand. Almost out the door, she remembered she ought to get him some water or something too. He couldn't drink alcohol, not like he was.  
Now Craig was sitting on the porch step just like she told him, but in her absence, he had decided to wash up a bit. He was still splashing some of the laundry tub water over his head and shoulders, rubbing slowly and thoroughly. Under the arms too, that idiot. He was humming a husky little tune, it was that Mister Sandman song, she knew it right away in just a few notes. Boy could sing, if he wasn't all shy or skulking around. Ayup, so there he was, washing up, getting higher than fuck, the First Recon murder machine, humming hey mister Sandman, bring him a dream. 

She sure walked out in the nick of time, but serve him right if he started to wash his junk out in her laundry water and got stung by that strong soap.

But nope, he still had on his underwear-- she checked, while he blinked stupidly at her in the light of the lantern, face dripping water.

"You couldn't have taken a bath," she said.

"Just did."

"In a tub."

"What you call this."

"That's a laundry tub."

"S'it a tub or not?"

"I meant a tub inside the house, you dumb ass?" 

"Thought you said for me to stay out here," he replied. "Bossin' me a'stay out here. Make up your mind."

Cass grunted. "I'm not going to fight you," she said, "not when you're like this. You being dumb and contrary. Like getting stuck in deep mud and nothing's going anywhere."

"Where you want it to go?"

"Just drink this."

She handed him the jug and it was a relief to get that taken off her hand. She set down the lantern on the porch rail and he sniffed the mouth of the jug, then took a little lick with his tongue, then started gulping it down. The hell with you, Boone! You think she put anything other than water in there?

Only after he started gulping down water, she realized-- watching his throat work and the water run down his chin-- that he might have made a pass at her just then.  
He better not try anything, if only so she didn't have to hear Gannon and Veronica all whine about it. She could picture him now, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, disgusted with her, and she could hear the brat saying "He's in a fragile emotional state right now," but Santangelo could stick a sock in it. 

Fragile emotional state, Jesus Christ.

"They act like you're a small china doll," she told him, before she knew she did. She better eat some of this bread to soak up that whisky.

"Thought I was a bull calf," he said. 

Bull, china, sounded about right if you put them together. That old saying. Just think, back in the old days, people actually wasted their money on matching plates and cups. Too good to drink out of a mason jar or somebody's helmet. 

She sat on the porch step on the side of the laundry tub opposite to him. The day's heat had soaked into the wooden planks and she felt the warmth against the tender inner skin when she settled down. Hell of a time to be caught in just a bra and panties, Gannon's shirt be damned.

"Just don't think you should be babied, that's all," she said, tearing off a hank of bread and handing it across to him. A small mercy their fingers didn't brush. 

"Not sure what you mean," he rasped. "Thought I was s'posed to take more responsibility. That's what it was about, wasn't it. Making me go along. You say that's babying me."

She spread jam on her half of the bread.

"Could have posted me outside," he said. "I could of shot him just like that. Shot him for a deserter and get the 'quipment back."

He was just holding his bread, picking at it. That wasn't right, big boy ate anything you put in his reach. Him and Arcade.

"You would have done no good," Cass told him, Christ almighty she was tired of hearing it. "If you'd have shot him, then he won't take us to his stash. Where do you think he's hiding all that equipment? In his pocket, while he goes flittin around light as a fairy?"

Boone sighed.

"Eat your bread. Bad enough you're like that, I won't have you getting all sick on an empty stomach, or dying on me. Idiot."

"Bad enough like what." 

"Eat your bread."

"Bad enough like what."

She rolled her eyes, a hank of bread poochin out her cheek. "All right, know what," she garbled through the mouthful. She swallowed. "You wallowing around the past five days, just the three of us in here, now you come out all hazy and feeling good and you're sitting there in your li'l undies with a giant hard-on, giving me that look, talking in that raspy little whisper voice, asking me personal questions.. " 

Now Craig was in the middle of guiding that bread to his face like the big stoned-fuck baby he was, and it just kind of hung there right by his open mouth. A slow stupid sort of surprise was showing up on his face. 

"And everybody treats you like you'll just fucking fall apart if anybody touches you."

She guessed he look surprised, anyway. God damn, he was hard to read. 

Then it turned into that weird little smile again. "Don't got a hard-on," he said. "It's jus' like that. Hardly feel nothin below the waist." 

Damn her for looking just then. It was reflexive. He caught her looking, too, cause that smile spread and he took a big old bite.  
"Well, if that's its natural state, I would hate to see it all ready to go." 

Boone said through a mouthful, "Would you hate it?" 

"Well it looks a little freakish from here, I mean, what would you DO with it?"

"Whatever I want."

"Tough talk from you."

"Don't have to be all talk."

He was reaching across now and she batted his hand. "Don't you touch me," she snapped.

"Jam," he croaked.

Jesus, he'd been reaching over for the prickly pear jam. For his bread. 

She handed him the mason jar. "I thought you were getting fresh with me," she said. 

"Talkin loud. You'll wake up Gannon."

"He's not here. Look, you think you can just sit here and play with fire, " she said. "I don't want to hear anybody bellyaching bout poor little Craig not ready to move on."

"You talk down to me all the time. Like you know better."

"I do know better."

"You think since you got past yours, you can talk down to me. Stupid Craig didn't think things through."

"Now, did I say that? When did I say that."

"Thinkin it." 

"You a fuckin' mind reader now, Craig the psychic?"

"Read your face. And the way you talk to me."

"Life's nasty, tough, full of sons of bitches. You think the sons of bitches ever curl up and cry, thinking about all the bad things they done? No. They just go right on along with a fuckin spring in their step. If you think I talk down to you, Craig, it's because I want you to know that life goes on and you've got to live it. You're only what, twenty-two.. if I'd have just given up at twenty-two.. Jesus Christ."

"Twenty five."

"Still so young."

"Though you liked 'em young and strong."

"Just for a ride or two and I'm on my way. I wouldn't want you getting all cut up over it-- and hell, I got to look at you."

"Could turn you around," Craig replied as he waved the heel of bread in a little circle. "You'll like it." 

"I meant I got to look at you every damn day." 

"Hell, you fucked a robot in front of the whole team, still got to look at all of us." 

"I call that quick-thinking and initiative," she replied. "With his wires crossed like that, he couldn't decide if he was a sexbot or a commie-killing machine. He wasn't going to stop til operation complete." 

"So fuckin a robot is what it takes to be second in command." 

She would have thought that fucking Rodriguez would have been what it takes to be second in command, but he passed over Gannon. 

"Shoot, why don't you go find out," she said. "Victor's rolling around here somewhere."

"Think he'd give me a handy, one of those claws," Boone said. "Help a pardner out."

Hell, if she thought Rodriguez was going to be mad at her as it was, just wait til Craig was howling in town square with his dick ripped off by a robot.

"Pretty sure any woman in this town would hike up her skirts for poor baby Boone. You know they all want to fix you."

"What about you?"

"I don't care if you want to be miserable. I said my piece, but I can't make you think or feel any different if you don't want to. I just don't like to pull my punches for anybody. I'm not going to go easy on you just because." 

He watched her while he ate the last bit of bread. If it had been anyone else, and anyone else sober, she would have used the word thoughtful to describe him. But you had to be careful when you assigned some notion to Boone-- he was probably thinking about eating more bread or if that cowboy robot really would get him a tug.  
When the bread was all eaten up, he looked around him, like he wondered where it went. He was still licking his lip, and she tried not to watch the slick of tongue going across. Tried not to think about that, instead: maybe he was going to get sick soon. All those feelgoods running through his veins. He was going to get sick. 

"You should drink some more water," she told him, and he watched her blankly. Then he raised the jug to his mouth. "How you feeling now?" 

"Good," he said, and drank.

He handed the jug across to her, and she took it in. She was feeling sharper with some food in her, but then, not that she particularly wanted to be. There was a certain pleasure in sitting out an autumn night with a bit of a buzz. Just taking life in. Was still hot out, but not as much. 

Yep, so she was gonna have to watch him now. Perfect. She wondered if she should run up the way and find Arcade, but God knows what Boone would get into on the way. Maybe she could make him follow her, but that would entail putting some clothes on. 

She wasn't sure what the side effects were for whatever that was. She never used any. Was she supposed to keep him awake? Was it bad if he went to bed like this? The safest thing would be to drag him back into the dining room and get him to lay on his mattress.

Cass thought about her own condition. Pretty sure some of that shit would be bad for her heart, why she didn't mess with it.

Craig was looking off into the dark now. He did that a lot, staring off into the distance.. and sometimes he'd raise his weapon and kill something they wouldn't figure out for a couple minutes yet. Bet he couldn't see shit now, just lookin on at nothin.

She reached across to feel the pulse at his neck, but she touched his shoulder gently first so she wouldn't startle him. He turned back to look at her. She felt his throat swallow, and a deep rumble of his voice begin as he started to croak something, but she shushed him. Waited.

"Your pulse feels a little fast," she said.

"Cause you're touching me."

Cass tried to steel herself to it, but there it went, that little twinge of something for him. "Boy," she said, "you are just a big mess." 

She moved her fingers from his throat to the edge of his jaw, and as soon as they touched his face, his eyes slipped shut. 

Her fingers encountered stubble, and after a moment, he murmured thickly, "Need to shave." 

"Don't need to," she replied, keeping her voice soft. "You can grow it out if you want. You don't have to be in any regulations."

"Prefer it."

"You just don't like anybody knowing you're a redhead." She teased her fingers over one ear and into his close buzz of hair. 

He didn't say anything, but he smiled. Good to see it on a young man who just seemed to scowl nowadays if anything.

"You can do whatever you want to do, you know that?" 

No word from him.

"You don't even have to stay here. You don't owe anybody an explanation, either. You don't owe anything."

"Got to."

"Got to do what?" 

"Have to fight in the war that's coming."

"If that's what you really, really want," she told him. "Has to be you who decides that. Got to make a choice for yourself as your own man."

He just grunted "yeah," and his face tightened.

She didn't press. Maybe it was good for him to have a purpose, rather than sit around rotting with regret like he was when they found him. She hadn't been around then, but they told her how bad it was. Santangelo took it real serious. 

Cass rubbed his head in slow circles, now. From time to time she would shift from the pads of her fingers to the blunt ends of her nails, scratching lightly through his prickly fuzz. She felt him relaxin up again.

She could tell he was loving it, high enough that probably just sitting around felt pretty good as-is. His breathing came real slow and deep, his mouth slack. He liked to be touched. Time to time you'd hear him trading a neck rub from Gannon. He'd make up an omelet or some biscuits from scratch, something good. The doc was easy. 

His big hand touched on her wrist, and she felt him squeeze. For a little minute she let him stroke her arm kind of clumsy. Felt good. Peaceful. They were just having a moment, just living bodies, living life, sitting there in an autumn evening.

There was that swell again. That part of her that just wanted to wrap him up in a blanket. Sure she felt bad for him, but if you wallowed around in misery pickin your scabs off all the time, that wound was never gonna heal. She was a firm believer in the First Church of Tough Love.

His scalp felt good beneath her fingers. Like a lil less prickly than stubble, fuzzy almost, like how a pup’s fur feels. She was getting real relaxed doing this. She knew he liked it, just being touched like a human being. God damn, everybody else was dead in this fucked-up old world. ust being here, just being alive. That was what was important. Being human. 

She thought of mama taking her hands when she was young, telling her how the Beast whispered a promise in Man’s ear, and Man lusted for that promise, never mind the whisper smelled of smoke. The world burned and men died, but war never changed. They would kill you soon as anybody, no matter what all had happened, no matter how many had died already, no matter how few were left. That was why she had to kill them all, she told her daughter. Had to kill them first. And Mama did, all those screaming hundreds sent down into the sea.

Mama gripped her hands tight, her eyes hard and full of tears, but none never fell and she never saw mama cry—but she said, you can’t trust anyone , and she said it in the lilting half-language of her childhood.

Cass didn't like how her thoughts pulled that way. Unresolved bitching with Arcade-- maybe that was it. The three of them stuck in this house all this time, of course they were going to get bored and start picking at each other. Now the doc sure was a smart one, but damn if his bullshit didn't roll her eyes now and again. She told him that if he felt so strong about it, why didn't he take ED-E out back and shoot him. Otherwise, live and let live. 

Boone sighed, then. She thought maybe he was getting sleepy after all. She didn't know if she should just walk him back to the mattress on the floor with the comfy little quilt. She didn't know if she ought to get Arcade. Get Arcade to come look at him. She didn't want to leave him alone if he looked like he'd get into mischief, but if he could barely plod around that was another thing. Maybe she ought to put him back now, him gettin all sleepy.

He was starting to lean and she felt his grip slip up her arm, but then oh his hot breath on her face and he kissed her kind of messy. It felt like a calf's broad wet nose pushing on her face. She didn't react right away, just gave him her lower lip to suck on. 

But then.. she did warn him. She said her piece.  
She let him do what he was gonna do, if he had the grits to do it. Maybe the shot would help him.. make it easy to go back on it. Say he wasn’t thinking right. 

He was a slow, messy kisser. Felt good, though. She rubbed his arm to encourage him, slipping her hand up round the back of his neck. She let him mash his mouth on her a lil bit more before she started to kiss him back.

Cass almost laughed the way he acted, the way he responded to her. She could feel a deep shiver come over him, and he swayed a little, like he was getting lightheaded. Well, more than he was. 

Must have been a long time for him, never mind that whole awful episode where Santangelo tried to get him a hooker, or the time Cass dared him to kiss Gannon. Turns out Craig Boone don’t back down from a dare.

“You go swooning on me,” she warned him, lips against his lip, “and I won’t let you ever live it down.”

“Cruel to me,” he whispered.

The porch boards creaked when he shifted his weight, trying to bring their bodies closer. 

His bristle brushed her when his face rubbed her cheek. He hadn’t shaved his head or his face neither, and him nuzzling her jaw and throat was starting to scratch and then to tickle. She pushed at his jaw to work her mouth back to his mouth, but he held her tight, and buried his face in her neck. 

He just wanted to hug her a minute, which annoyed her for a reason she couldn’t quite express. She felt the breath from his nose and mouth blowing on her for a bit. Let him do that a bit. Fine.

She smoothed her hand over the back of his head, then feathered her fingertips back through his fuzz. He sighed, seemed to like that a great deal. Seemed like he might just fall asleep like that. She felt him get heavy, and damn if he was going to work her up and pass out on her.

Cass pulled away, and he responded to the loss of her warmth, his look questioning. She turned his face gently with her hand and brought her lips back to him, and they kissed slowly. He was a wet and sloppy kisser, and she would have shoved him back if they met in some honky tonk instead of out on this lonesome road, this journey together.  
She guided his free hand to her breast, and he pulled the fabric of Gannon’s shirt tight. It bit in her shoulder a little. She helped him nudge aside the open shirt and he brushed her bra. Dipped a few fingers inside the cup. 

Boone started to lean heavy on her again and she felt a deep twinge inside her. Full aware of the warm wooden planks beneath her rear, and that she was only wearing a bra and panties ‘sides that shirt. He was going to find her real slick when he got there.

Hell if he was takin his sweet time though.

She let him. Last thing she wanted was him worse off with the bruises, or if he’d actually broken one of his ribs. Gannon said he couldn’t tell. And anyway with all those painkillers she didn’t want to slosh him around too much in case he got sick. Just let him find the pace. 

Cass humored him as he nuzzled and kissed her. She licked his ear when he started tucking against her again, and he shivered all over in surprise. Maybe he liked that. There was a bitter taste from the laundry soap he’d used to wash up with.

She stroked his bare thigh, hip to knee and back again. Be better if they moved this back indoors. The lantern was attracting nightlife, and a big powdery moth was flitting round Boone’s head. She’d better get him inside and wash his hands off, wash off that stinging sharp laundry soap before his fingers got into any sensitive places.

“You wanna get back in the house,” she murmured to him as she palmed the front of his briefs. My god, that strong warm feel. How thick and fleshy it was gonna be.

Boone just groaned. She gave him little light squeezes, feeling out his shape. He hung his head and just breathed. That moth batted against his head one or two times and he shivered again, and holy hell, if he was so spaced that a moth’s wings felt good..

She nosed her hand into the waistband and reached in to stroke him.

She found him soft. 

He moaned and leaned back to brace himself better on his hand. He just muttered, “Uh,” and grunted.

He really was soft.

She thought maybe it might take a minute, that dumb, drunken delay from the meds. All that juice interfering with his nerves. Sometimes this happened with some of the drunks she scooped up, the ones who couldn’t keep up with her.

She slowly squeezed root to tip, feeling him out, maybe that would get the blood flowing. She rubbed her thumb over the head, and then gave a twist just beneath the crown.

Boone just groaned. His belly jumped and quivered, you could see that sucking in and out, like his body felt real good but the signal was getting lost somewhere along the way.

She stroked, teased, touched, did her best for a good couple of minutes, just feeling his heat and feeling him shiver. Weren’t getting anywhere though and she was about to see if she couldn’t lick some life into him when she looked up and caught his eye.

Son of a bitch.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Son of a fucking bitch Boone was smirking at her.  
he nerve of him. Was he trying to strike back at her? Was this his idea of a joke? You couldn’t tell if he was joking sometimes. 

She had an angry moment of clarity.

“Can’t feel nothin below the waist, you said.” She let go of his prick and let it flop away in disgust. 

“Guess so,” he said. “It’s.. feel it in my back. S’go on some more.”

“Hell no, not so you can mock me.” 

“Felt real good. I mean it.”

Cass started to button Gannon’s shirt over her bra. “This wasn’t a good idea,” she said. “You all drugged up, all messed up. Put that away ‘fore the animals come and get it.”

“No, w’go inside.”

“Craig, you could be real sick right now, and that is the only reason I’m not completely pissed off at you.”

“I’ll make us an omelet.”

“I don’t want an omelet.”

“You love my omelets.”

“I eat ‘em coz they’re there." She finished buttoning up, stood up, and snatched some clothes off the rail and tossed them down at him. "Jesus Christ.”

“What you eat for breakfas’.”

“God damn it, Craig. I don’t know why I even try talking to you like this. Dumb and high is no way to go through life.”

Boone just grinned at her, leaning back on his hands, with that huge girthy gift from God just there on his thigh. She didn’t think he was mocking her, well, all that much. Most like he really did want to fuck her, hell, she knew that much back in Freeside, but this just wasn’t the best idea right now. 

He could be really sick with that double-dose. 

Boone cupped himself shamelessly and said in about the huskiest voice she’d heard in awhile: “Mind helpin’ me out, Cass. Come on.”

“We’re gonna go get Gannon.”

“He’ll never do it,” said Craig with a moth landing on his head. “He’s all talk.”

Well-- oh. 

“No I meant you better put on some clothes,” Cass snapped, “‘coz I’m taking you to go get seen by a doctor.”


	3. Chapter 3

Arcade Gannon was helping Doc Mitchell deliver Miss Jessica’s baby. Miss Jessica was the bighorn ewe that belonged to Marty Pritchard, given that name by Marty Pritchard’s six year old daughter. Mitchell thought the lamb might have an extra limb, as they sometimes did, because there was an obstruction that prevented the passing of the baby.

They were both soaked in sweat, soaked in birth fluid, crawling around on hands and knees in the itchy alfalfa straw in the Pritchard’s lean-to shed. Marty wanted to rope the lamb tight and just pull it out hard as you could, the hell with it at this point. Miss Jessica could drop more lambs later. She was a prize ewe and judged best in the town, at least, ever since the Powder Gangers shot a couple of them out of spite some time ago. 

Mrs Pritchard came to check on them time and again, and she brought a ceramic basin with fresh water for washing their hands and faces. The water always came back red and floating strings of mucous and bits of alfalfa.

The ewe was exhausted, laying on her side now, and the humans were prepping for another go. Mrs Marty had just brought a fresh basin of water and Arcade and Mitchell were glad for it.

It was about this time that Cass and Boone showed up.

She was wearing one of his shirts like a dress, just long legs and some cowboy boots. Tattoos up and down her leg.

Craig was wearing Arcade’s old SULTAN ALLEY bowling shirt (stolen off a clotheline on the run outside La Mirada) and a cowboy hat (Raul’s) and shorts. Very short shorts that might have been something Veronica intended to wear at some point. And combat boots.

He also possessed what looked like a tremendous straining erection but that might just be Veronica’s shorts.

He also looked higher than hell.

No one said anything right away. The ewe softly screamed a human-like scream. Mrs Marty gawked, the basin tipping water out without her knowing.

“Good evening, Sgt Boone,” said Doc Mitchell. “Miss Cassidy.”

“Hey yall how’s it comin’,” she said like nothing was strange. She had a tight smile on her face that meant trouble.

“Hey.. hey Gannon,” Boone said as he plodded up. “Heh. What.”

“Hey, Craig. How ya feeling, buddy,” said Arcade very carefully, tensing up because Boone was walking straight up to him as though he didn’t know or care that the doctor was in a messy and foul-smelling state.

Boone smiled and squeezed a big hand on his slimy shoulder. “Wh’do you want on your omelet?”  
“Nobody’s angry,” Doc Mitchell was saying, “but you got to tell us how many doses you gave yourself so we can help you.”

“One on each side is all.”

“And that’s it?”

“Oh God,” Arcade broke in. “It’s a miracle you didn’t kill yourself by injecting an air bubble.”

They had Boone sitting on some old orange crates. Cass sat herself down too, looking like she didn’t worry too much about the whole thing. Maybe. She looked flushed, but then, she had fair skin and might have been drinking.

Doc Mitchell tried to get Craig to track the movement of his index finger.

Arcade sighed. He should have seen this coming. Craig’s history of substance abuse. His obvious misery--

Since they took a break from Miss Jessica’s baby, Arcade washed and re-washed his hands, wiped them, and gave them a last good rub before he touched Craig. Not that it looked like Boone was in any state to mind.

“Your pulse feels a little fast,” Arcade remarked. By habit he glanced at his left wrist and saw nothing there. Oh. “Mitchell, do you remember where I set my watch down?”

“Don’t know, maybe Mrs Pritchard picked it up.”

Boone had ceased to follow the motion of Doc Mitchell’s fingertip. Instead he lolled his head back, laying on Arcade’s hand. His eyes looked sleepy, and there was a slight smile on his face. 

Arcade felt perturbed to have lost his watch too. Where did he put it? “Cass, can you go ask Mrs Pritchard if she knows where it is?”

But Cassidy laughed and said, “Bet you Miss Jessica knows.”

And all of them looked at the straining mutant sheep that panted in the straw.

“That’s-- that’s my father’s watch,” Arcade cried out.

“Lost my daddy’s ring same way to a lady,” Cass lamented. “All I got now’s this necklace to know ‘m by.” 

Doc Mitchell raised both eyebrows.

Arcade felt Boone chuckle through his fingers on his pulse. “She’s messin you,” he said. “Saw it on the sink. It’s safe.” 

Doc Mitchell was shaking his head with a smile. 

Craig reached out and touched his elbow. “Sall right. Saw it on the sink.” He looked more awake now, but not alert, and he seemed to press in when Arcade took his hand away. Like he wanted to be touched some more and that was a road Doc Gannon just wasn’t going down.

“Think he’ll be all right to go back and rest,” Doc Mitchell said, after a minute. “Just don’t let him go to sleep just yet, get some food in him.”

“Gon’ make an omelet.”

Doc Mitchell nodded. “Now that is a fine idea,” he said. “Make yourself up an omelet.”

Cass sat up with her hands on her thighs. “Oh I don’t know, you sure you don’t want him to come sit with yall? Two of the finest doctors in the Mojave?” 

Truthfully, there was very little they could do for Craig now. He would be fine, if he didn’t bring Cass to blows. On the other hand, that bighorner was critical to the livelihood of a struggling homesteader family. They needed to get through this difficult delivery.

“Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids,” Arcade told her. “No alcohol.”

Cass smiled a friendly smile, but you only had to look in her eyes. “I’m going to get you, Arcade,” she said.  
“Well here I go, looking after your dumb high ass again,” Cassidy said as she flopped down at the kitchen table. “You ought to thank me.”

“Nice and proper, I promise,” he said, hauling out the cast iron pan from the cupboard.

“Think your little bluff woulda worked better if you hadn’t lain down your cards beforehand.” 

“Wouldn't say it was little."

“Even so, hell of a lot good it could do in that state. I don’t care f’it was a mile long.”

A smile crossed his face. He sure was a good lookin young man. “Sure am sorry,” he said, “just needed a minute. Fine now.”

“All it took was gettin’ ol Gannon’s hand round your throat, that it? Get you primed up?”

“Heh, some folks need a lil extra get them goin,” he said. Cracked eggs fell into the pan. “How many you want?”

“How many omelets?”

“Eggs.”

“Two eggs.”

“Come here and chop the peppers up. Please.”

“I thought you were makin it.”

“Don’ want to get pepper juice on my fingers.”

“Aw, you got a paper cut?” 

“Nah. Just thought you wouldn’t like it. Probably sting you later when I touch you.” 

Oh.

She couldn’t decide if that was more arrogant or strangely considerate. He seemed to quietly figure things out in advance.

Cass came up and took a knife, twirling the end of it. “You still counting on it?” 

“Am if you are. I don’t think you’re a quitter.”

She frowned at him.

“Tell me bout your tattoo.”

“Maybe later.”

“Almost got one once.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t you?”

“Passed out.”

“Craig Boone,” she said as she made short work of the peppers. “Did you fucking faint getting a tattoo?”

“Didn’t even get one.”

“Did it even touch you?”

Craig smiled. “Nope.”

“Were you drinking? You don’t drink getting a tattoo.” She scraped the jalapenos off into the pan. “Thins your blood out.”

“Nope I don’t know. I guess I was dehydrated. Anyway. Carla had a lot of tattoos and I wanted one myself.”

“Don’t tell me you were going to get a bear skull or some dumb-ass thing.” 

He shrugged. “Didn’t get nothin’. So I don’t know.”

Cass met his eye to see if he was going to go off in a mood of his, but that was the thing about Boone. You put all these deep thoughts and emotions to him and probably right now he was thinking about folding the eggs just right to make that omelet.

She leaned her hip against the counter and just watched him a minute. Easy to be charmed by his domesticity. He played a good support role in their team in downtime. Easy to get along with.

After awhile, her own thoughts wandering, she asked him: “How much you know about Arroyo tribe?” 

“They helped the NCR defeat the Enclave. Sunk their oil rig they lived on. Chitsa the Chosen One was some kind of a warrior princess.” 

“Anything else?”

“She rode on a big white dinosaur.”

“What do you think about that?”

“I like dinosaurs.” 

“No, I meant.. “ 

Cass tried to frown at him, but then she just laughed softly and shook her head. “Trying to tell you I came from Arroyo tribe. My tattoo is a deathclaw in our style. It’s an important totem for us.” 

“Let me look at it again.” 

“Maybe later.”

They ate in silence for the most part, with him watching her a time to see if she liked it. The eggs were good, hand-picked that morning by a pig-tailed little girl down the way. 

“Why you leave them?” Boone asked, after awhile.

She was scratching her fork across the plate. “I wanted the open road. Had to see more of the world.”

“Freedom.”

She thought of her uncles, their spiteful faces. The muttering crones. Mama. Mama with her hard eyes, her bloody coughing. “That too,” she said.

Boone always laid his arms out on the table when he ate, planting his wrists round his plate like somebody was gonna take it from him. He took another fork full of egg and chewed it a minute, and right after he asked his question, Cass knew he’d been wondering whether to say it out loud. “So you had a kid,” he said.

How'd he know that?

“Don’t know how that’s any business of yours.” So far Gannon was the only one who knew about that, having seen her scar. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” he said. “Picked up your clothes one day off the floor. Letter fell out.” 

She pushed her plate away. “And you read it. You going around reading other people’s mail?” 

“Didn’t know what it was. Thought it might be like.. “ Boone trailed off and chewed some more. “Most of us in the army have a note somewhere. Last wishes. Instructions. I thought.. “

She didn’t want him to think this was issue some great thorny patch of territory never to be ventured into. You couldn’t be like that in life, not without losing your mind.“Well, don’t you go running your mouth. Sure. I got pregnant when I was fifteen. My mother had died, leaving me with a pack of controlling relatives who all thought they knew best how to run my life. So I gave him over to an old couple who couldn’t have children.”

Craig picked at his plate all the while. A slow, methodical eater, like a steer chewing its cud. When he spoke, he said, “You ever meet him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I thought about it but I always put it off. I don’t know if me coming into his life would be a good thing or bad. I didn’t want him getting dragged all into the reasons I gave him up in the first place. I don’t want him knowing my side of the family.”

“Where’s his daddy?”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Is that who writes you?”

“God damn but you’re a nosy son of a bitch.”

“Sorry. Won’t ask anymore.”

...

“I did the right thing,” she said sometime later, the two of them sitting out on the porch. “I know I did. That old couple loves him, he grew up right, and my friend looks after him.. from a distance. That’s him who writes me. A family friend.”

Boone leaned back on his arms, just listening to her. It was easy to talk to him. Even in his addled state, he seemed to hang on every word.

“Does he know about you?”

“Don’t know. I don’t know what anybody’s told him, if anything. I’d have hoped they told him I died giving birth to him, to be honest.”

“Why’d you want that.”

“So he’d have closure. So he wouldn’t wonder. So he’d think the old folks were his mom and dad.”

“He’s your son too.”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” she said. “You want kids... and you don’t know what it’s like to be a pregnant teenager in a dead-end village where everybody all thought you were a fuck-up to begin with.”

His weight shifted, and he sat up off his arms. He did this to put a hand on her hand, which was a sweet thing to do but he shouldn’t have been sitting like that anyway. It would hurt his ribs, even if he couldn’t feel it.

“So I read he joined the army.”

Part of her was irritated the boy went into the NCR.. how much did they know? Were they trying to make him into something he wasn’t? Force him down some path to fit their political fairy tale? The grandson of the Chosen One, hip hip hooray? Stand him up there with fucking Aaron Kimball, wrapped in the flag? Well-- the boy was a Cassidy, too, and damn if they weren’t stubborn and went their own way. “Yeah. Guess he did join up. We’ll see how long that works out. If he’s anything like me, his mouth is going to get him in trouble.” 

Craig smiled, and she sensed trouble.

“Now don’t you even think about it. You see that? That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want people getting ideas. Not you, and not Rodriguez. Jesus Christ, you better not tell him. I know he wouldn’t rest til he hauled that poor red-headed private by the scruff and dropped him at my feet. You know how he feels about that kind of sentimental bullshit. God. I hope when this is all played out, Arcade steals him a baby or something. Bad enough he sits on you like a broody hen trying to hatch out a chick.”

“Think you ever will try to meet him, though? You have to.”  


“I don’t haaave to do anything. And that’s my business.” She shrugged. “Look, you really shouldn’t go reading people’s private letters, and eavesdropping. You do that too. You are one eavesdropping son of a bitch.”

“’m sorry I read your letter, but I can’t help it if everybody talks loud round here.”

“Maybe this is a good thing. A good thing to talk about, but you hush your damn mouth in front of everyone else. I want you to know that bad things happen, but it can all work itself out in the end. I got my son away from a bad home life, got him away from people who would have twisted his life to their own gain, I gave him to folks that loved him and took care of him, and I ran away with the caravans. Learned everything I knew from some of the best foremen and traders in the business.” 

“Makes sense to me... keep your options open,” and she was glad he said that. She hadn’t meant to tell him about the boy, and she thought he’d never pick up on it if Gannon kept his mouth shut. He wouldn’t have known what the mark on her body meant, if they’d have gotten that far.

Still. She didn’t want him circling the drain, thinking his life was all over, when it had hardly begun. Maybe hearing that story would help. Then maybe not.

He hadn’t moved his hand from her hand, and after a minute, she felt his thumb start to rub. Felt nice. She closed her eyes and just breathed in the cooler autumn air, felt Craig’s thick fingers.

“I’ll give you ‘nother chance,” she told him softly, “but you better take it serious if you do.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“But not too serious,” she added.  


The floor mattress felt steady, low, balanced. She’d been on anything from bare ground, bedroll, squeaky-springs to a fine full poster, but she liked a good floor mattress best. You didn’t have to worry bout falling out of it, and it was best for a drunk. You were close nough to the floor already.

She would have put him on his back right off, but she didn’t want to hurt his ribs. Not sure the best way to go about things with him like that, but they would find out. 

Felt good just letting him kiss her, just running her hand slow over his head. Liked the prickle of his hair. She had to help him with the buttons on her shirt-- Gannon’s shirt-- and then she felt his body shift down as he brought his mouth to a breast. 

She thought maybe he shouldn’t put weight on his ribs like that, but then her thoughts turned to how good it felt to have a wet suck on her nipple. He squeezed the other breast slowly as he did so. She squirmed when he sucked with a little more force than she anticipated, but then he relented, and his tongue smoothed over her nipple before he gave a sloppy kiss. His breath felt good on wet skin.

Cass stroked and petted his head, rubbing the back of his neck where she could reach. Then she gave the collar of Arcade’s bowling shirt a tug-- let’s get you out of this.  


With some insistence, she got him to sit up. He was breathing heavy, his expression soft and glazed in the lantern-light. He was still too dumb for the buttons on his shirt, and she helped him out of it. The SULTAN ALLEY bowling shirt came off with some struggle to get his left arm free, and then she smirked with self-satisfaction at his muscled body. He had a good physique without the leather-tough or desperate-hard look of some wastelander men, those wiry, beat-up survivors who lived hand to mouth. In fact he looked to her like he had a little bit of puppy fat on him. His figure ran to squarish, blocky. Solid. He was going to feel good bearing down on her, fucking her, or just laying back and holding her steady while she rode him.

Except those ribs..

She wanted to ignore how swollen and dark the bruises looked. He didn’t feel it now.. but she didn’t want to hurt him. Hell, hurt him more if he felt bad about this a couple days later. Like he couldn’t let himself enjoy being with someone again, like he deserved the pain.

She didn’t want him to get all hung up over that. Didn’t want him to go crawling back to that bad place. She just wanted him to feel good.

While she looked him over, he slowly squeezed her arm from elbow to shoulder, looking down on her. Letting her make the next move. So she pushed closer to him, rubbing herself against his leg where he knelt between her thighs. He groaned too, and when she pressed the heel of her hand against those ridiculous red short-shorts he was wearing, she wasn’t disappointed.

“Gonna hurt yourself laying down on me?” she whispered to him. “Or you want to lay back and let me on you?” 

His voice was rough when he said, “You ‘n do anything you want.”

“I don’t want you cracking a rib, so you got to tell me.” 

“Let’s.. “ He licked his lip and stared, like he was trying to grab the words out of thin air. He sure looked dazed, wellp, maybe this wasn’t the best idea-- then he smiled. “I can lay back, don’t lean forward.. you just.. ‘ll show ya.” 

She thought she knew what he meant, and it gave her a little twinge of pleasure that he agreed so readily to the position. Then again she figured him right off for the type that liked a woman on top.

When she got him up on his knees, she did down the buttons on those damn shorts. If she didn’t want to keep this quiet, if it turned out to anything, she would have loved to tease Veronica over this one. Craig stroked her hair and then combed his fingers slowly through it all the while. He touched her ear, her jaw. She wasn’t sure whether he was going to be one of those grim, cold hard fucks, but it pleased her to find he was affectionate. She thought he might be, maybe. Just so long as he didn’t get too mushy on her.

With some work she got those damn shorts off without tipping his off-kilter ass onto the floor, not that he’d have all that far to go, but still, he was a bit loopy and uncoordinated.

She palmed the front of his underwear, and thank God, he felt hot and hard. She growled softly with anticipation. “Let’s see what you got to work with,” she said, just as Rex started barking in the other corner of the house and a door banged somewhere.

“I’m baack,” Arcade called out, “I hope you’re not sleeping, because you shouldn’t be?” 

Cassidy froze there with her hand in Boone’s underwear. 

Hysterical dog toenails scrabbled on the floor somewhere in the house, and there were metal leg clanking sounds.

“It's a girl, by the way. The miracle of lif-Rex, NO. Down!” 

“God damn it,” Cassidy hissed.

Boone just said, “Heh, you don’t have to stop.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cass found him in the kitchen. That’s where all the dog noise was coming from. Rex was leaning against Gannon’s long legs, tail wagging, his mouth open and happy. 

Now and again Arcade Gannon had this habit of surprising you with how he looked. She still remembered the first time he shucked off that lab coat, took off his glasses, and smoked Boone with a long-legged sprint.

He was looking wet, clean, and sleek in a blue vault jumpsuit. A big yellow 21 was embroidered on it. 

“All right, we get it, we’ve been taking your clothes,” Cass said to him.

“I showered up at Doc Mitchell’s. He gave me this to wear back.” Arcade gave Rex a last good pat, and he straightened up. “Where’s Craig?” 

The sniper was off trying to wrangle himself back into his own pants, but Cass replied: “I thought I heard him say something about a bath.”

“A soak would do him some good. How’s he been?”

“A pain in the ass.” She folded her arms where she leaned in the doorway. “I hope you know.”

She put on her most put-out looking face. Didn’t mean it, not really-- more than anything she was just irritated he hadn’t stayed an hour more over at Mitchell’s. Trust him to come home right when things were getting good, but then that was Arcade for you, always awkward.

But of course Gannon blamed himself for just about everything, and now he looked contrite. That was the word for it. “I’m sorry, Cass,” he said. “I should have known better.. Craig’s feelings of guilt and uselessness, the availability of painkillers-- I should have.. “

“Oh come off it. He’s high, happy, and talkative. He comes in here, I bet you he makes you an omelet, sits down way too close to you, and tries to get you to look at his johnson.” 

She saw she was getting through to him, because Arcade considered, slowly nodded, and then crossed his arms just like her. “Well,” he said, “I won’t be falling for that again.”

“What if there’s something medically wrong with it,” Boone croaked as he came up on them out of nowhere, the eavesdropper he was.

“Craig, I’m sure it’s just fine.”

“How you know, without even one look?”

...

Craig was humming before he even got the radio plugged in, wandering barefoot through the farmhouse. He was wearing his own pants again, just them pants with a whole lot of pockets. His ribs made him look like somebody used him on a giant ink stamper. Cass had to put Veronica’s shorts on. Her pants were still drying.. and her panties were wet.

Arcade was tucked into an omelet. “God this is good,” he muttered through a mouthful. Craig even toasted him up some pieces of cheese bread they got from Mrs Ludlow, who was trying something fierce to make him her son-in-law.

Rex was eating his own doggy omelet, tail wagging. Now Rex and Craig didn’t get off on the right paw all those weeks ago, but the way to that terrible cyborg’s heart was through his stomach. Fortunate thing that Craig turned out to be a good cook, else Rex might’ve thought to rip his hat off with his head still in it.

“Maybe you ought to start a restaurant some day,” Cass said.

“With your hunting rifle below the counter,” Gannon put in.

“How many plugs work in here,” Craig slurred, swaying slightly when he came in the room. “Just the three?” He had a radio in both hands, one of those ugly bakelite models in some kind of grayish brown. It was cracked from age, but still worked. He had that thing in his room; over the past five days, he’d lay in pain on his bed with the radio on the floor just inside his reach.

Gannon nodded. “The one in your room, and two out here are rewired. So, I guess you’ll have to unplug the lamp if you want to put that on.”

Cass glanced over her shoulder. “Go light the lantern first if you’re gonna do that.”  
In the back of her mind, an evil little voice said good, maybe with a little mood lighting ol Gannon will get sleepy. Hell with that, though, if it was gonna work out, it was gonna work out. She was glugging out one of their water jugs, getting some water ready to boil for coffee. Boone had roasted some coffee beans yesterday, so they were still good.

Craig lumbered off to find the lantern, and you could hear him humming again. It was that shoe shine boy song. 

“At least he’s up, moving around.. in a positive mindset,” Arcade said as he ate. “I just hope that when it wears off, his mood doesn’t crash from the pain and loss of mobility.”

“He’ll be all right,” Cass said. “I think what bothers him most is he didn’t get to finish the mission. Rodriguez can’t be gone much longer. Hell, he’s got Raul, Veronica, and the eyebot. If they can’t catch that kid, it wasn’t meant to be. Or he’s dead already, bein’ picked at by the buzzards.”

When she glanced over to see what Arcade thought of that fool errand, she caught a change in his expression she didn’t recognize. He seemed to close up before her eyes. “Do you think they should have caught him by now?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied. “It’s a whole lot of desert. Harder to catch him if he’s dead. Something could have sprang out and got him. Hell, he was halfway into deathclaw territory when we called it quits to take Boone back. That kid probably tramped off, made a whole lot of noise, and got himself eaten.”

Gannon ate the last few bites of his eggs without saying more. He was probably overthinking this whole thing.

“You know what I think? I think they found the kid already, and there’s some tall tale why he ran off, and ol Marco’s gonna march him back here and find a reason for the NCR not to shoot him for a deserter.”

Whatever Gannon’s mood, that guess of hers hit close to home and a slight smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “God,” he said, “that sounds like something he’d do, doesn’t it.”

“Yep, he’ll talk to his ol’ buddy Jim Hsu, smoke a cigar, cut some kind of deal and clap the kid on the back. Go forth and sin no more. He’ll come back here, hug Boone, ruffle V’s hair, and preachify some kind of lesson we learned. Be like one of those old holo shows where the daddy always knows what to do. We’ll all laugh, and then he’ll go back and blow you within an inch of your life.”

“I don’t think that was in the old sitcoms.” Arcade was setting his plate neat in the sink. “Still.. I think you’re probably right. I just.. “

Somehow she just knew. “Raul?”

Arcade said nothing, but there was that way he tensed. 

“Whatever happened back in Arizona, it happened. That was years ago. No use blaming each other.”

Arcade turned away from the sink and said, in a whisper, “Did he talk to you.. ?”

Oh darn, was she supposed to pretend like Rodriguez wasn’t one of the Desert Rangers? Like Raul wasn’t that ol Ghost Vaquero? “Naw, but take a fool not to see they have some old grudge between them. It’s over. Arizona fell. What happened happened. If anybody ought to understand the passing of time, it should be Raul. So it’s good the two of them get to go around together. You start to figure out things alone together.”

Arcade looked like he was getting his words together, but he didn’t get a chance to say what he wanted to say. If he even knew what he wanted to get out. Craig came back in with the lantern.

Cass met Gannon’s eyes for just a second, and then she went back to making coffee. “All right, you can pull the plug for your radio.”

He tweaked the knob on the lantern, giving the fire more wick. When he unplugged the lamp-- god, what an ugly kitsch old thing-- the lanternlight was warm and mellow. Made the kitchen feel welcome, and the coffee smell was nice. Then the sound of the radio, scratchy at first til Craig turned it the right way.

This was going to be a good evening, Cass decided. Let Gannon worry if he wanted. Wasn’t going to mean nothing when the dog started barkin like crazy and the boss came back through the door.  
“Come on, Gannon. You know the lion song.”

“You’d have to be a eunuch to sing that high.”

“I ‘n sing that high. You do the other part.”

When Arcade shook his head, Craig pressed, “All you got to do is the weem-a-ways.” 

Cassidy smiled round her coffee mug. “Why don’t you sing something Arcade’s more comfortable with? A song he knows.” 

Craig had his cup in both hands, rubbing the chipped mug against his cheek. Probably felt warm and good to him. Lord was he high. “You know this one,” he slurred, and then he sang: “My love is bigger than a Cadillac.. “

A grin broke across the doctor’s face. “Puh.. do I know Buddy Holly! Honestly Craig I thought you were able to tell from the glasses that I was a fan..” 

The song turned out to be called Not Fade Away, and it was a pleasant, lively trade of voices. Craig sang a hell of a lot higher than you would have took him for.

They moved on to a song called Peggy Sue, and hell, if you didn’t know the words to that one there was no help for you. Even Cass knew that. 

“Well I’ll be,” said Cass as she walked back in, “ya’ll are my second favorite version of that song. Sorry but you can’t beat out this big girl I knew back in Kootenai, she would play along on her banjo too.. “

“If you have a banjo,” Arcade said, “you can jump right in.. “

“You sing at all Cassidy?” Craig asked her.

“Hell, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Don’t stop me from tryin’ though, let’s see if I come by the mood.. “

She raised the bottle for emphasis, and she poured a fair bit in her mug before offering it the doctor’s way. Craig held out his mug.

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Arcade said.

“Bullshit.”

Craig was waving his mug for attention.

“You aren’t getting none in yours,” Cass told him quick, cutting him a glance before she turned back on Arcade. She flopped her ass down beside him and scootched up closer. “Now come on, it’s a good rye all the way from Canada. You been through a lot tonight.”

Arcade relented, and she poured a splash in his mug. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Craig, d’you know this one?”

...

“Ooooo ooo wah-ooooooo.... “

“Each time we have a quarrel, it almost breaks my heart.. “

“Oooo ooo wah-oooo... “

“Cause I’m so afraid we’ll have to part.. each night I ask the stars up above.. “

“Why must I be a teenager in love?”  
Cass couldn’t tell how much time had gone by; she only knew that the pot of coffee went to the grounds, and that the bottle of whiskey went empty. The three of them sat in the spare dilapidated furniture fo the farmhouse, the room lit only by the face of the radio and the flickering light of the lantern. The boys sang by the radio, and Cass honked on that whiskey bottle for her own musical contribution. 

And Rex howled.

The empty bottle had a deep rich sound, intermittent, with no real sense of rhythm. She tried to catch Arcade’s eye while she did so, messin him up a couple times. Now by this time he’d had enough splashes of whiskey to calm him down good, and he just laughed happy. The skin of his face was real warm when she reached out to rescue his falling glasses.

“You’re losing your eyes, there, doc,” she said.

He tucked them in the collar of his vault jumpsuit. “You know, Craig, I wouldn’t have thought you could sing.”

“Lot about me you d’know.” 

A smirk crossed the doctor’s face. “I’m just going to leave that be,” he replied. “Anyhow, you ought to go take a bath so I can put your compression bandage back on.”

“Maybe you can come wash my back.”

“Sorry, Craig, but you picked the wrong time to go Boone-curious. I’ve become immune to your charms. Can’t you see that procreation is my civic duty?” Arcade plucked the front of his vault jumpsuit. “Now off you go.”

“One more song.”

“Splish splash I was takin’ a bath.. “

“One more song.”

“I’ll shave your head.”

Craig nodded. Seemed to suit him fine.  
Felt like the whole house rattled when the water was running. Wasn’t gonna be hot, but it was something.

“Well, he seems all right,” Arcade said as they sat together. He was working on some water now. “He’s going to regret it tomorrow, though, so he should try to get some rest.”

“Good to see him loosen up a bit.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to see him get that way on his own.. and not under the influence.”

Cass nodded. “I hear you, that shit’s more harm than good most of the time. But Craig will get there.. he’ll laugh and smile again, well, if he ever really did. I can see he really likes the boss. You. Veronica.” 

The wheeze and rattle of the water pipes came to an end, and the sound in the farmhouse was only the muted strains from the radio and the soft snuffle of the cyborg dog as he groomed himself.

“I see you left out Raul and yourself.”

“Well with Raul he probably picks up on the tension between him and the boss.. wary, like, but I hear them talking sometimes. As for me.. you know how Craig doesn’t like me telling him what to do.”

Arcade considered. “I know Marco wanted Craig to grow into the role, but he’s impressed with you.”

Cass gripped his hand with both of hers, clutching it up in a melodramatic fashion. “Oh Doctor Gannon, who would have guessed fucking that robot would have propelled me to such fame and good graces?” 

He squeezed her hand and smiled back. “At least not James Garrett’s good graces, but you can’t win them all.”

“Oh, but I wormed my way back to his good side by and by.”

“I don’t think I want to know.”

“Oh I think you already do.”

Taking on a mock serious sort of expression, she met Gannon’s eye. She had to hide a laugh because you could just about see his realization they were still holding hands at that moment.

He let go. 

She smiled.

Arcade shook his head, chuckling softly in that way of his. Then he pitched his voice to call out, “Craig, you all right in there?”

That husky voice hollered back, “I d’know, sure could use a doctor. I’m all soapy.”

Arcade put a hand over his face.

“You’re all talk, Boone,” Cass shouted back. 

“Don’t get him started. You can’t play gay chicken with Boone.”

“Well there is a game I never heard of.. but color me intrigued.”

“You know, like in the old days, when two cars speed right into each other until one driver loses his nerve and swerves away?”

“I do not, but there is a fascinating mental image.” She chuckled and gave him a pat. “I guess growing up with Manny put him at ease with gay folk. Not really what I would have expected of him though.”

“I know.. I guess I wasn’t really sure what to make of him either, at first. I’m-- glad he’s with us.”

Soft thudding footsteps and swaying lantern-light preceded Craig’s return. Cass found herself disappointed he wasn’t wearing just a towel. Especially if he had been trying to hold a towel and a lantern at the same time, high, staggering, and out of coordination. But no, he was in trousers and the light glowed on the watchband on his wrist.

“Here,” he said, holding out his arm to Arcade. “See, told you it was on the sink.”  
Arcade took his father’s watch immediately. “Thanks, Craig, that’s thoughtful of you. Here, sit down.”

“You’re no fun, Boone.. should have drawn it out s’more, let him think he left it in the sheep.”

Craig smirked, and he sat next to Arcade, heavy and close. “Trying to get on his good side Cassidy.” 

If that was bait, she took it. “Mmm-hmm?”

“Get me bandaged, shaved, put to bed. Hopin’ he’ll do it proper.” 

“And what do you mean by proper?”

Boone quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh, so that’s what you think?”

“Can’t believe you’d go shoulder deep in a farm animal, but wouldn’t even tug off your buddy when he needed it.”

Cassidy hooted. “Can’t argue with the logic in that.” She wished she could save Arcade’s expression forever. 

“Oh I might, if I could manage to reach around you,” he replied, laughing almost as bad as Cass, “but you better lay off Mrs Ludlow’s biscuits.”

“That how it’s gonna be then.”

“That is most definitely, hypothetically, how it would be.”

“Be like the rodeo then. Think you could hang on for eight seconds?”

She could see Arcade’s imagination at work, because he clamped his eyes shut and made a sharp face. “Oh, oh wow. Okay. I think that’s enough of that.”  
With the lantern-light soft and the radio playing low, Cass drifted in and out of a whiskey nap. The soft sounds of Arcade mixing shave-soap lather. She had always found Arcade’s voice so pleasant, its charm and personality, its expressiveness even when the volume fell off in a mumble. He was talking quietly with Craig while he shaved his head and jaw.

Cass lay with her head against her arm, blinking her eyes open from time to time as she came back to the conversation. 

“Did you know that doctors and barbers used to perform the same functions, back in the Middle Ages?”

Craig made a thick sound.

“That’s why you’ll see red and white poles in front of Old World barber shops.” 

“Middle Ages.”

“You know-- castles, knights.” Arcade’s hand was moving slow, precise, as he passed the blade across Boone’s scalp.

Craig had this disjointed, pleasurable mutter. Still all high. “Mm, dragons.”

“Well-- yes. Like in the legends.”

“Saw one.”

Arcade wiped foam from the razor. “Me too, if we’re talking about the same thing. They were made right before the war.”

“You know a lot.”

“The Followers have a wonderful library. Back in the Boneyard.”

Craig said nothing more. Cass either, only watching. Her eyelids dipped again and she faded to the sound of Boone’s shave. 

After some time, not sure how long, she heard Craig ask: “You ever been with a woman?” 

“A few.”

“Still talk to any of them?”

“No. I would have liked to write to one of them.. see what she’s doing now.”

“But?”

Arcade fell silent, and the soft shaving sounds continued. Cass opened an eye, curious to know more of the conversation that passed between them. The shrewd businesswoman in her, the cunning tribal scout in her, those parts of her sensed in Arcade something more than he let on. She wanted to know more of where he came from, who he was, and the more he shrugged it off the more she wanted to know. When he did that, she smelled blood.

“I’m sorry for what I put her through," the doctor said at last. "It’s best not to re-open that wound.” 

“Can’t change the way you are.” 

“No... but I shouldn’t have let myself get pressured into trying to be something I’m not. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to be honest.. I hate lying.” With an air of finality, Arcade closed the topic with the way he left for a kitchen towel.

In the intervening moments, Cass glanced over to see if she could trade look with Craig, but he just shut his eyes and waited for the doctor to return. Arcade rubbed the wet towel over Craig’s scalp and jaw, clearing away any lingering bristle and shave soap.

“There you are,” he said. “Shave and a haircut. Two bits.” He squeezed Boone’s shoulder. “You should drink some more water, at least another mug full. Then go to bed. You might not feel well tomorrow. Body aches. Headache. Sour stomach. I’ll check on you.” 

Craig reached out clumsy fingers to take Arcade’s hand for a shake. “Thanks.”

“I’ll check on him,” Cass said on a yawn. “I’ll trade you the dog for tonight. Less you wanna bunk with ol Craig.” 

Craig still had Arcade in a handshake. “You got soft hands, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

He was moving so slowly that she thought he would fall asleep as soon as he burrowed his face in the farmhouse quilt. Before he got there, he checked and re-checked his rifle. She touched his arm. Satisfied the weapon still stood where he needed it, Boone crawled onto the floor mattress and shut his eyes.

Cass shimmied out of her pants, leaning on that ladderback chair for support. Then she tried to wake Craig enough to get him under the quilt.

All was quiet, just the creak and groan of the farmhouse from time to time. Rex walking through the place with the click of his claws on the floorboards. Gannon was probably out like a light. Everybody was always saying he could fall asleep right where he was, and then Cass believed the one time she saw him shut-eyed and slack-mouthed with a book in his hand.

Craig felt solid and huge against her, warm, like hugging up next to a cow laying down in the barn. She thought maybe she’d sleep. The things to be said had been said. Let him heal. He was still breathing slow beneath the fresh bandages, so the medicine still worked. She wondered if he’d just fall off to sleep. Maybe for the best.

She’d never slept with him before. Seemed like Veronica was his typical bunk buddy, but you found him sometime with Gannon if the boss had watch. Now there was a sight, sometimes you’d come in there and find Gannon awake and mouthing ‘help me,’ trapped in a sleep hug, Craig drooling down his neck. 

She was just starting to fade when she felt him drop one of those big hands real gentle on her face. She said his name, and added on, “What are you doin’ now, you dumbass,” so he knew who it was. She felt him chuckle. Then she turned her head and she let him put a sloppy kiss on her.

“You try to do this, you’re gonna be hurtin’ tomorrow,” she told him when they broke, and she nuzzled her wet cheek against his jaw. 

His knee butted against her thigh, and she opened to the press of his leg. Well, all right. It felt interesting for a few moments, and she smiled in the dark. Then she felt him shifting around, big and unsteady, trying to prop up on his side. 

“Don’t,” she said. “Lay there.”

Without bothering to tease him, she went for what she wanted. She unbuttoned the front of his pants and started to work them off his hips. He groaned even before she rubbed him through his underwear. 

She figured she would finish herself off tonight. Let him have his rest. She drew out his erection and felt its shape, felt the quiver in his belly when her hand slid deep in a downstroke. She could see him by the dim light of the lantern, but more than anything, she felt him, and she heard him. 

Best to get him nude. He felt sleek and smelled clean from the bath, like that woody-musky smelling soap. Gannon liked the scented soaps that homesteader wives cut out in big soft blocks. 

She felt Craig take in a little breath again, heard him say some broken word.

For her, there was a gentle enjoyment in knowing how much this pleasured him. He needed it. 

She felt him twitch. The softness and heat of the skin over his rock hard erection.

With her fingers she explored the texture of the veins, tracing one along its lazy loop. He twitched again, moaned. She flicked the head with the pad of her thumb, just to see what he’d do. Then she circled a finger just beneath the crown.

“Please,” he croaked.

All right, then. All right. She gave him a reassuring stroke, rubbed his belly a little. Then without a fuss she took him in her mouth. He let out a cry as soon as she engulfed him.

She gave him a thick and thorough suck.

His belly quivered. She could tell he wasn’t going to last long. Good. She wanted him to just let go. He was starting to breathe hard, but she knew she couldn’t stop now, not when he made a helpless sound when she took her mouth away for just a second. She’d worked up some wet and let some spit slick her fingers. 

Craig grunted for attention.

She wasn’t sure he was gonna like it or not, but she had a guess. She was judging by his comfort and indifference in the off-color atmosphere of the Atomic Wrangler. “Hush you,” she whispered, as she ran her lips against the side of his head, and took him back in.

As she worked him with a wet suck, she introduced a finger, real slow at first. She felt as well as heard his gasp then. “You don’t like it, I’ll quit it,” she told him, and he just huffed softly, ‘heh.’ 

He twitched in her mouth again. She felt his body shudder, felt him pressing back against her, and little clenches. She couldn’t see his face real well in the dark, but a flash of teeth gave away his ecstatic expression. 

His hands roamed her hair. He bunched up her hair and lifted it off her neck. Touched her forehead. Then he tapped her to tell her he almost had enough, but that was just fine by her.

He came with a sound of huge relief. 

She nursed him until he couldn’t take the sensation any longer. She lay down alongside him, careful not to press hard against his side. The hands that pushed her head away now drew her in closer, and he caressed her hair and face while he recovered.

He brought her chin close, and she laughed softly. “Don’t know you want to do that,” she whispered, cut off when he kissed her. Turned out he didn’t care.

His hand touched her cheek, her ear, her jaw. She hoped he wasn’t going to get all mushy on her, but it felt good for right now. Probably best just to let him do it, he wanted to love somebody. 

Craig shifted again, and she put a hand to his arm to keep him down again. “Don’t move round so much,” she said. 

He fell back again and his head sat against his collar for a minute. He sure looked all drugged up. His big hands moved slow and one of them slid down her flank and back up again. He started to touch her breast in big slow handfuls, half-sleepy, all clumsy. Felt nice. She soothed his head.

After a time he started to pluck at the edge of her panties. 

“And what were you going to do about those?” she asked him, and when he pulled at the backs of her thighs, she understood. 

“C’mon up,” he grunted.

“You better not fall asleep on me.. ”

“Gonna be all right.”

She steadied herself as she got her panties off. When they were free, his fingers teased against her lips. She rolled her hips closer, but his touch moved and he grunted as he urged her to walk herself up. She felt a twinge of excitement in her belly and hoped it all went through. Just then she wanted this bad enough to laugh at herself later, but damn.

Real careful she drew up astride his mouth. 

His thumb teased her curlies, then he started to nuzzle and lick. Oh God. Just that one lick and she let out a big sigh to embarrass herself. 

He started to lick real slow at first, and she felt like she’d melt. She thought she’d come right away, it felt so intense, but she survived long enough to relax into it. He went about it with a doped-up single mindedness that trapped her completely in sensation. 

Then he added a finger, and she just felt the pad before he curled inside. The new pressure felt too good, and the different points of sensation were growing too much. Instead of that slow sleepy lap, he picked up the pace, and the insistent press of his tongue-tip started to throw her off. She wasn’t going to hang on long now.

Felt so good.

Her climax hit all at once. He kept on, and she heard and felt his moan of excitement when she jerked and clenched. She let out a sound a whole lot louder than she meant to.

Hell, he wouldn’t let her go, not right yet, til she couldn’t stand it outside of a scream. 

Her knees felt shaky. One slid off the mattress, but thank god they were already on the floor. She had to balance on her knees and one palm flat out when she dismounted.

He licked his lips. 

She felt like she had no legs at all. Felt like she wore a sweater knit out of ice. 

She brushed his scalp with her fingertips. “Well I think we might get along,” she said.

...

Dog woke up everybody first thing. God damn it.

Cass woke up sweat-stuck in a huge hug, and it took her a minute to remember she’d been messin with Boone.

Rex was barking in that huge hollow steel voice. Not good. Bein as he was a gigantic dead animal with metal bolted on, he wasn’t the kind of animal to get all in a tizzy over nothin. Not a nervous dog. Hell, you took a shot at him, he’d just look at you like you were dumb.

Took her a bit to put on some clothes. Craig was groaning sore and hurt, and she was damn sorry he had to wake up to all that noise. He was going to feel like hell.

“S’goin on,” he grunted.

“Damn dog.” 

She thought Arcade might still sleep through it all, knowing him, but a quick look in the master and she saw an empty mattress. Thought she would have heard him moving through the house, but she didn’t know where he went.

Rex was all glowing eyes and slobbery teeth. Aw, hell. For a second she had hoped Marco was back, but this wasn’t his happy puppy act. You would have seen that cyborg jump into his arms like the littlest baby. 

Miss Trudy appeared in the back window. Her face was paper white. She rattled the window and hissed, “Doctor Gannon.”

Well shit, what in the hell.

Arcade stepped into the hall out in front of her all of a sudden, and with that white coat on his arm it was like seeing a ghost. He was tucking his energy pistol in the back of his waistband, something she remembers disjointed later, and then he smoothed the coat over when he went to the door.

It was all First Recon.

Arcade blocked her out, and it annoyed her. She was forced to grab the dog’s collar. Rex, NO.

“Good morning,” doc said pleasantly.

“Good morning, Doctor Gannon. I’m looking for Mr Chris.”

Rodriguez had a few names he made up and went by. That was one of em, and for some reason Cassidy couldn’t figure out, Gannon was all tense. She didn’t like it, didn’t like Rex being all nasty, and Trudy bein all weird. 

“He’s off on a job for the major,” Gannon answered. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Gorobets-- that was his name, the cute young one. Lieutenant Gorobets shook his head. “We’ll be here for at least another night or two,” he replied. “I’ll talk to him then. We have a proposition.”

Gannon seemed to relax, then. “He’s still hunting down that deserter.”

Gorobets nodded, and he made a motion or something that Rex didn’t like, because he surged again and Cass had to use her full weight.

Well the LT started at that, and the rest of them too, but some of them started to break out into smirks after they got over their own jolt. Gorobets lifted an eyebrow beneath the beret. “Damn,” he said. “They were right about that dog.. “

Cass said, “He’s got some strong feelings bout hats.”

…

“There’s been an incident at the correction facility south of here,” Gorobets explained later, as they sat on the porch with cold drinks. Rex had been banned inside.

“What do you mean, an incident?” Gannon asked.

“Whole thing’s overrun,” the woman sniper said. Jane Betsy. She had those black mirror sunglasses on, no nonsense, with a lush mouth on a hard face. Cass always liked her.

“The colonel’s moved some troops to help contain the situation,” Gorobets continued, “but we can’t cough up a lot of manpower without somewhere else going without. We think there’s a hostage situation going on, but no one’s really sure what’s happening inside the prison. We’re going to post and try to pin them down.”

Breathing shallow, looking like hell, Craig grunted, “You want us to flush em out.” 

Gorobets nodded. “If anyone can find a way inside, well, it’s Mr Chris. We’re still trying to figure out how your team cleared Camp Nelson.” 

Gannon shrugged expansively. “Magic.” 

…

The town sure didn’t seem to like the idea of a First Recon team hanging around, even for a day or two. Trudy went round like she had a bee in her bonnet. The settlers looked tense. Cass knew how hard it was to live on the edge of the NCR, what it was like to need their help but live in fear of it. Hell. 

The snipers were a sarcastic bunch, and Cass figured they weren’t all that bad. Most of them seemed to know Craig, maybe part of his old team. Betsy gave him hell all morning. The new kid stuttered in his presence. 

After they cleared out, Gannon seemed to settle down all right, and he turned his attention on Craig. Now Cass would have wanted to talk to him alone, but there would be time for that.

Craig looked like hell.

“Fell back to earth, didn’t you?” Arcade said in a sympathetic tone, as he put an extra cushion under his head. “I’m sorry, Craig, but there’s nothing more I can do for you. You’re going to have to wait this out.” 

“What I said las’ night,” Craig croaked.

Arcade dismissed it like a gentleman. “You were very drugged.”

“You had the perfect excuse, Gannon,” Craig choked out. His big gorilla hand pushed Arcade square in the chest. “You blew it.”

The doctor looked down his nose, down his glasses, his expression kind of tired and pissy, and Cass just laughed. 

…

Right before the hot of day, the rest of the banditos came home. You knew it right away. Rex’s lights turned on and he ripped out the front door with a crazy bark. 

Rodriguez had this way of walking that you knew it was him. Walked like a drunk, walked like a swagger. Really went well with that long coat mercenary sort of thing he had going on. Salt and pepper hair, piercing eyes, rugged good looks. Fact of the matter was the Legion hurt him real bad long time ago, why he limped round like that.

So, they got the kid. He looked even younger now they had him tied, he’d been crying, had a pimply face, kind of a weak chin. He looked scared to death. Raul hefted a heavy-looking backpack, and Cass was glad to see they got the equipment back.

Veronica looked sun burned as all hell, but otherwise all right, looking accomplished and positive. She was wearing a skirt over pants and she went tromping round in her boots. Cass thought it odd that Santangelo didn’t look too bothered about the poor kid’s plight. Like as not, they were going to put him against a wall and shoot him.

Thing was, she bet Rodriguez would find a way to spare him. She called that day one.

Rex ran circles around Rodriguez, barking and whining. Boss let him jump up, patted him, hugged him, and then Rex ran off and promptly took a piss on some cactus. He came back leaping and barking like a pup, not like the hideous war machine that he was.

There was movement on the rooftops. Of course one of the First Recon team had posted up there. Rex saw it and stiffened. Oh boy, here we go again.

The townsfolk started to draw their curtains.

The First Recon team lead came out. “Mr Chris,” he called. 

“Lieutenant Gorobets!” Rodriguez said. “You come to swing by Miss Trudy’s?” 

“We were going to have some lunch there,” Gorobets replied. “Good to see you. Did you recover the equipment?”

Raul gave a big shrug of his shoulders to show off the backpack. 

“Don’t tell me Major Dhatri sent your team down here, all of you, for this one of him?” Rodriguez walked on over to meet him. He had a polite but firm way of talking down to some young men. The Dad talk.

“No. Unrelated. We came for the prison situation.”

“And what is the situation?” 

“Powder Gang uprising. They won’t budge, so we’re being posted to pick them off.” Gorobets ran the back of his hand over his face. “Major has a proposition. See if you could get inside for us.”

Rodriguez nodded slowly as the young man spoke. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “It depends on what the major says to my terms.”

“I can relay your terms to the major. What are you thinking?”

Cass knew it from the smile on his face, she knew it right before Rodriguez said, “My terms are Private Bowen.”

…

Cass crossed her arms and leaned against the porch to watch it all go down. Rodriguez had a way of stirring things up. Hell, she’d agreed to go along with him for many reasons, and one of them was pure curiosity.

“Bowen stole the equipment for his brother,” explained Raul Tejada. “The other one is in prison. You don’t like that, but if you look at the facts, he’s your best chance now.”

Lieutenant Gorobets took this in with a frown. “That complicates things, doesn’t it,” he remarked.

Rodriguez smiled, squinting in the noontime light. “Life is complicated, lieutenant,” he replied. “Tell it to Major Dhatri like this: Bowen contacts his brother, he walks point on your raid, and if he lives, he lives. That’s what I want.” 

“The major might not like that.”

“The major might not like my price tag,” the courier replied. “That was five days of me and Miss Cassidy’s time, and one of my men got hurt.”

Sergeant Bitter Root broke in with, “But Boone’s our man.” 

“Not anymore.” Rodriguez didn’t smile anymore. “Well, you talk to the major and let me know what he says. So you know, it’s First Recon who will probably form the firing squad for this kid.”

The runaway sniffled, taking in a shuddery breath. Veronica patted his shoulders. Raul was shrugging off the backpack and handing it over to Ten of Spades, and the kid underestimated its weight.

“I’ll radio back to camp and see what the Major wants to do,” the lieutenant said after a moment, taking off his sunglasses and wiping sweat from the sides of his nose. “Unfortunately.. fortunately.. however you want to look at it, no one knows what the situation looks like inside the correction facility right now. Only Bowen’s brother, if he’s still alive and is willing or able to communicate with us.”

“ Powder Gang has a lot of weapons,” Raul pointed out. “And they’re angry.”

Veronica added, “And they’ve got a lot of dynamite, too, don’t forget that winning combination.”

Without doubt a survivor of the siege of Yuma, like Raul was, the courier painted a picture for the unhappy lieutenant. “They’re in a fortified position, dug in, well supplied. It would take time to starve them out.. and how much time does the NCR really have? You need soldiers elsewhere.”  
Gorobets spread his hands. “I can’t argue with that,” he replied, “but it’s not my decision.”

Rodriguez nodded. “There we go. I knew you would get it. You’re a smart man, Gorobets. Now you let me know what the major wants to do. I’ll talk to him if I have to, but for right now, all I want is some of Miss Trudy’s lemonade.” 

Betsy went in for Bowen, and he flinched, already raw. Veronica put herself between them. She didn’t seem alarmed, just firm. Her training and strength gave her an unusual physical confidence, despite her small frame and somewhat goofy, girly appearance. With that power gauntlet on, Cass had seen her throw a motorcycle like a sofa cushion.

“That’s the other thing,” Rodriguez said. “Bowen stays with us til I have the payment.” He didn’t seem defensive about it, just matter of fact. 

Gorobets seemed aware that they outnumbered the courier gang and could probably take Bowen if they wanted to. He just nodded his head. “Fair enough,” he said. “Saves us from having to babysit him. I’ll let you know what happens.”

…

Welcoming them back, Cassidy said, “I think there’s a lot to be made here with the prison as it is, and ED-E gives us an advantage.. ”

“Besides,” Veronica put in, “there’s going to be escaped prisoners running around this entire area. We’ve got to do something.”

Craig had hauled himself upright to meet the others at the door. He stood there huge, bruised purple, and mouth-breathing. Looks like Gannon wrapped his bandages again. Looked like hell, and Cass felt her heart tug when he smiled a little to see the rest of the gang safe and sound.

Rodriguez grinned huge and open, and he threw his arms out and said something in Spanish that was probably like, ‘oh my big fat boy, look at you, don’t worry, Papa’s home.’ Cassidy retained only enough Spanish for tequila and trade.

“You should have seen Veronica take him down,” Rodriguez said over lunch, as they sat around that cracked dinner table. 

Raul snorted. “I saw her. I was looking down my sights when she ran in front.. ”

Veronica held a fist to her chest and let out a soft burp. “I was amazing,” she said. “I think this means I get to lead our bounty hunter gang now, for I am the bountiest.”

Rex’s slavering jaws appeared beside Veronica’s hand, begging for scraps from the edge of the table. His eyes glowed red. When she shooed him off, the cyborg grunted and padded round to bully Bowen, who clung to his sandwich for dear life. Rodriguez loosened up on him a bit, and hell, not like he could run away with the dog and ED-E on him now.

“Well, it was pretty quiet here,” Gannon said. “Nothing of note.” He was a terrible liar, couldn’t tell a fib for shit, and his eyes went to their corners, looking at Cass.

Of course Cass now had to do it, now she dropped her elbows on the table, knife and fork in each hand. “Had us a three way,” she reported, matter of fact. “Wasn’t nothing else to do, you know how it is.”

“Oh, I know,” Veronica said, raising her eyebrows, “we couldn’t help it anymore, we all had to look at Raul in chaps for daaays..”

Rodriguez made a horrified sound and expression. Veronica was like a daughter to him, and you got the feeling him and Raul kinda hated each other but stayed together for the team. “That’s a terrible mental image.”

To which Raul grumped, “That’s not what you said when we were alone in the desert.”


	6. Chapter 6

The farmhouse was settling for the evening. The heat of the day began to fall off just a bit, and Rodriguez was standing in sock feet on the porch. He had just bathed, and he had a quiet joy on his face of just being clean after days in the desert. Probably felt good to walk out in the warm air after a bath. Just watch the sun go down.

He turned as she let the screen door bang shut quiet. “Hey,” she said.

Rodriguez smiled at her.

Cass launched in,“So ya know, me n’ Craig messed around. It’s nothing.”

He should have known by now that she was pretty upfront about most things. He blinked at her, as if catching up.

“I wanted you to know.” She shrugged. “He’s a grown man, and he has to get on with his life. Hell! Not with me but in general.”

Rodriguez opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “That will be on his own terms,” he said quietly.

“Sure. He’s got to figure it out for himself. I just didn’t want you to get all protective of him like he’s some fragile baby doll.” She added, “’cause you can get like that sometimes. I know you mean well.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Rodriguez remarked after a minute. “I’m not his father.” (Cassidy thought it probably took a lot out of him to admit that.) “And I don’t have much experience with this kind of thing. I just don’t want it to cause tension in the team.” 

“Oh, but the you and Raul hating each other thing, we’re just supposed to pretend that isn’t real.” 

Rodriguez shut his eyes and let out a breath. It was the dammit-Cassidy sound. See, she knew him well. “That’s not the same,” he said. “You’re a very strong, confident person, Cass. You have a lot of experience and wisdom. Much of it hard-earned. Craig is young, and he hasn’t learned yet like you have.” 

“I know,” she replied. “But he’s going to have to get up again, and stand on his own two feet. He just wants to lie in the road and die. I think it’s stupid, ‘cause it is stupid.” 

The courier nodded. She folded her arms, sensing there was more he might say. It passed, whatever it was, and he changed his tone. “I didn’t consult you about the prison raid,” he said.

“Nope, sure didn’t,” she replied. “Of course, no way you could talk to me out in the desert, and they probably would have tried to take Bowen right off if you didn’t have a use for him.”

Rodriguez nodded. “It will be dangerous,” he replied, “but you won’t be a part of it, so don’t worry.” He talked in that handsome silver fox I’ll-take-care-of-you tone, the kind that half made her want him to give her a hug.

She shook it off and told him, “The hell I won’t be a part of this.” 

He made a face. “I can’t put you in a prison.” 

Cass raised her eyebrows. “Hell, nobody can, they’ll never take me alive.”

When he smirked, Cassidy pointed out, in a more reasonable tone, “Nobody in this group knows demolitions like me. I’m an expert.”

“If by expert you mean tossing off lit sticks of dynamite and yelling at the top of your lungs.. ”

“Fuck you, Marco, if that ain’t effective I don’t know what is.” 

He broke out in a grin. “But seriously.. ”

“But you’re taking who, Raul, Boone, ED-E, whatever, you takin’ Arcade?” Cass saw him start to open his mouth and she cut him off right there. “You won’t take me into prison, but you’ll take your beautiful blond bookworm, is that it? Now come on, fair is fair.”

“Cass.”

“Don’t you Cass me,” she huffed. “We’re partners, or aren’t we?” 

His eyes had humor in them. Damn if there wasn’t something about him, because he reached out to wrap her up in a hug. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “We’ll plan it out later.”  


Cassidy settled into the hug with more pleasure than she would necessarily admit. “I get to blow stuff up,” she muttered into his chest.

“I’m going to steal dynamite from the NCR,” he confessed. "When we go scout the prison."

She turned her head against his shoulder. With all the possible responses to that loaded admission, she just said, “What are we gonna do with it all?”

“Bury it around the desert,” he said, “for later.” 

Cass drew back and he held her loosely but comfortably by the waist, smiling kindly. There he was, testing the waters. His eyes searched her face for her reaction. “It’s not stealing if you just happen to take it from the Powder Gang,” she remarked.

Rodriguez smiled that smile, handsome rogue that he was. She was sure glad she hadn’t met him ten years ago. He would have been too much. “It’s still stealing,” he admitted. “They won’t know it’s gone. I need to know if you have an issue with this.” 

“Suppose I did.”

A shadow of apology crossed his face, then. “I will do it anyway, but I can cut you loose.”

“Depends. You gonna use that dynamite for anything other than blowing the Fort to smithereens?” 

“Cottonwood Cove.”

Cass punched his arm. “Well, I bet Jim Hsu would thank you for it, and anyhow, it’s their own damn fault they can’t keep their shit safe. Now you got any other terrible plans you want to tell me about?” 

She should have known then that he was testing the waters, that there was more to it, but it was easy to put it all together when you looked back on it all. Rodriguez just smiled said, “Not right now.”

Cass gave the butt of his jeans a pat and told him, “Now we cleared that up, you go get some rest, your doctor’s gotten lonely.”

…

As darkness fell, Cass went back to check on Craig. One of the radio dramas was on, that mystery-adventure that always came on in the evening. The voices would have made anybody a little sleepy, but she saw Craig was awake when he turned his head slightly.

“How you keeping up?” 

He grunted.

“That good, huh.”

His dull gaze regarded her, and nobody said anything for a second. He patted the mattress, then, and she joined him easy enough.

“You remember what we talked about,” she said, and he nodded. 

“Yeah.”

“I had a good time, and I hope you did as well.”

“Yeah.”

“So, hope you aren’t gonna go and think about things too much.”

He shrugged. If he said ‘yeah’ again she was gonna smack him. “Think you got a point, maybe,” he hedged.

She leaned in and planted a kiss on his brow. He put a hand behind her head to kiss her. 

“Enough of that for right now,” she said, heeling off her cowboy boots and kicking them away from the mattress. “I think you’re gonna be too hurt for anything.”

Craig smirked. “Worth it.”

“You know, you got quite the voice on you,” Cass remarked as she got herself comfortable.

“My mother taught me how to sing.”

“Hard to think you had a mother,” she teased. “It’s like they found you in an ammo can or something.”

“Caravan guard,” he said. “She taught me songs to pass the time.”

“She taught you how to shoot, too?”

Craig nodded and shut his eyes. “Nobody better,” he said, and that big hand returned to the base of her neck, fluffed up in her hair.

She let him do that, let him keep his hand there, and they settled in on the mattress together as the radio ran its show. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to turn the radio up so we don’t have to hear what’s going on in the next room over.. ”


End file.
